


there's no tragedy (in this)

by ideal_girl (trainwreckdress)



Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainwreckdress/pseuds/ideal_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davy's helpful. That's what he does. He <i>helps.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	there's no tragedy (in this)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xmarisolx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmarisolx/gifts).



It's Miles that rips the truth out of Davy, taunts him with it. 

"That was a secret!" Davy whisper-screams. It's a righteous, high-pitched noise against the clamor of a fidgety classroom on the last day of term. Their teacher swings her head toward them, narrows her eyes. Davy clutches his pencil, considers stabbing it through Miles' neck, decides against it.

"Can't stay a secret long, you big, fat baby," Miles replies, unperturbed. Davy's pretty sure Miles has become even more of a prat since his dad's book sold out all the shops last week. "It's our gap year, we're going to the sea and we're going to be frolicking in the surf with half-naked uni girls and you're going to be parked under the umbrellas with the mums and babies. Maybe you can make sandcastles or braid your hair or--"

"Shut up, the both of you, we're going to get in trouble on the last day of school." Bill hunches forward, his chair squeaking. "Tell ‘em, James."

"What?" James lifts his head, pencil dust decorating his cheek. "Tell them what?"

*

Davy plays it off, says someone's got to stay with their stuff on the blankets. ( _"Who's gonna steal our stuff, Davy? Come on!"_ James gives up, though, after Miles takes off into the water, eyes trained on a group of girls in two-pieces squealing against the cold spray of the waves.) 

Bill looks at him, imploringly, offers his hand. Davy shakes him off, puts on his headphones. Bill takes the dismissal well, shooting an arc of sand across Davy's feet as he legs it after the others.

Davy watches them crash about in the surf, flipping each other over the waves. He sees James come up, spluttering, laughing, his hands wiping away the froth. Their eyes connect, brief in the flare of sunlight.

Davy looks away first.

*

They go to university in the city, all of them, close enough to get together regularly, but far enough away so they don't live together. 

Davy loves the city, it's solidity and structure. He goes to South Bank by himself, leans over the railing and stares into the inky blackness of the Thames. He likes that the ground doesn't shift beneath his feet, that the horizon is a fine line only broken by buildings.

*

But it does shift -- it careens around a corner and dumps Davy off a cliff, actually. James's mum calls him, voice shaky, tells him everything, says, _"he won't let me help him."_ The next day Davy breaks his work contract, rows with his flatmates.

He gets on a train that night.

*

Davy moves into Chloe's old room, lives out of his suitcase and pretends to send resumes out at the local library. _("Was made redundant, James. Don't want to talk about it." "Fair enough.")_ Until the day he picks James up from his chemotherapy appointment and proceeds to puke all over himself and the dashboard on the ride back. Davy all but carries him into the house. It's the first time James doesn't fight him, doesn't tell him to _"budge off, I'm fine, you twat!"_ Davy sets James on the closed toilet seat, strips off his shirt and trousers, wipes him down. James stares at the floor while Davy squeezes some paste onto a toothbrush. 

"Here." Davy makes to hand it off to James, notices his fingers grasping weakly against the countertop in an attempt to heave himself up. Davy withdraws his arm, his other hand pressing James back to sitting. "I've got it, no worries, mate."

*

After James is safely tucked into his bed _("Don't tell mum. If you can manage it, can't lie for shit, Sherpa Davy, can you?"),_ Davy cleans the car carefully, rubs at the dash until it gleams in the afternoon sunlight. He goes inside, strips down. His shirt is a loss, so he tosses it in the bin. He unpacks, places his pants and tee shirts in too small drawers, hangs his jeans and jumpers in the closet next to Chloe's old dresses. Lines up his trainers and boots at the foot of the twin bed. 

He leaves the expensive dress shirts and trousers and ties in a wrinkled bundle on the bottom of his suitcase. He's not going back. He can't. He won't.

There's a clatter in the kitchen, Mrs. Griffith back from the shops. Davy puts on sweatpants and a vest top and goes to help her put away the groceries. He makes noises about James wanting to take a cat nap before dinner. She pretends to believe him. It's a small gift that Davy treasures.

*

Davy goes to church in the morning before the rest of the house is awake, leaves his suitcase next to the donation box. 

*

"I want to go on a trip," James says one morning. It's been a good morning, there aren't many of those these days, one without puke or shit or tears. "Maybe to Barafundle."

"You're mental." Davy's got his eyes on the cutting board, chopping veg for lunch. "Why the fuck would you want to go there?"

There's silence in the kitchen, save the _snickt-snickt-snickt_ of the knife. Davy waits, doesn't turn around, keeps chopping.

The answer, when it comes, is quiet, James' voice dreamy. "I'd like to go for a swim."

Davy's hands falter, the knife blade blooms with blood. "Ah, fuck, shit, buggery cunt--!" He shoves his hand under the tap, runs it over the nicked finger. He doesn't look at James, just stares as the water runs pink into the basin. 

"It's alright, Davy." James is close, his fingers wrapped around Davy's wrist, gently taking it out from under the spray. Davy grabs for some kitchen towel, wraps the cut up clumsily. He stares at his hands, doesn't look up. James leans into him.

"You know I can't swim," Davy whispers it, confesses his helplessness into the crook of James' neck.

"I know." James fingers are feather-light on Davy's chest, but Davy feels the touch burn through his jumper, straight into his bones. "It's alright."

*

"You know what I miss the most?" 

They're sprawled out on the lawn. Davy pushes his fringe back, squints against the sun. "Everything?" he asks.

There's a chuff, James' fist making a weak connect against Davy's shoulder, doesn't withdraw. It's been a week since James could properly hold the handle of a mug, his tea having to be cradled in two hands carefully. The contact shudders through Davy, makes his fingers flex against the grass.

"Orgasms."

*

Davy's helpful. That's what he does. He helps.

*

"Could you--" James pants, his breath harsh. Davy reaches for the morphine on the bedside table with his clean hand. "No!" James voice is thready, but the meaning clear. Davy freezes. "No, I mean, could you--uh--do yourself--I want--"

It's dark, so Davy can't read his face, can't tell if it's pain or--

"Please." James takes Davy's outstretched hand, directs it, presses it down, with intent. "You must want to--"

The noise Davy makes is wrecked, and he pushes down the waistband of his sleep trousers, curls both hands around his dick. His grip is slick with James' semen, and his heart skips. He eases onto his side, slots in next to James on the bed. James hums, tucks his cheek against Davy's shoulder, breathes in unison with the unsteady pulls of Davy's hands.

The humid puff of James' breath on his neck sends him over the edge, and Davy comes.

"Yes," James hums.

*

They make plans the next day. Davy calls, rounds them all up. James' mum takes care of the party invites and the food. James' dad tidies the garden.

"We're going to Barafundle," James says, a secret smile on his lips.

*

"You know I can't swim," Davy whispers. The curtains are still open, moonlight spilling into the darkened room.

"I told you, it's alright." James licks into Davy's mouth once, twice, drowsy and sated. They leave tomorrow. They _all_ leave tomorrow. Davy tastes salt on his tongue, tears tracking down his cheeks. James stretches, turns his head away. "I'm ready."

Davy waits until James' breathing evens out before he says, "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I have used some elements of canon regarding Davy's backstory from [the screenplay](http://mug7.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/thirdstar_scriptmaster.pdf), specifically that he quit his job to help instead of losing it -- which James never finds out. Not an AU, so everything that happens in the movie is yet to come, but still happens (e.g., James' cancer and death).


End file.
